Ether
by A Poisoned Aishiteru
Summary: A/U. Ether was an organization of assassins and spies, where once you got in you could never escape. But even basic training couldn't prepare Edward for his newest mission, where everything he had been taught is called into question. /Rated M for later/
1. Chapter 1

Wooo, another story I've been rearing to do for a really long time now.

This Organization was my original idea and I'd really appreciate people not 'borrowing' nor 'stealing' my terms. I've used it with role playing multiple times as well as my own original short story idea. Anyways, I thought of this and couldn't help but place the FMA world into it. Trust me, it's gonna be an awesome ride. (:

I guess this is my way of thanking all my readers with the success my others stories have been having lately. I am uber excited with all my responses I've been getting from my recent update of _Inside Beauty,_ and I hope this one exceeds as well. Oh and I also LOVE anything that has to do with spies/assassins/anything awesome like that. So this fits with my little obsession over that sort of stuff too.

NOTE: I own nothing. Besides Ether. And characters you don't recognize.

No beta. Only spellcheck but you know how that goes ;]

* * *

Chapter Song

**45 by Shinedown**

_Send away for a priceless gift_  
_One not subtle, one not on the list_  
_Send away for a perfect world_  
_One not simply, so absurd_

* * *

**Chapter I**

"I can't tell you the last time I've had a day off."

A person would be surprised how many times that phrase is inconspicuously thrown around the hall of headquarters. Usually a 'day off' consists of the time it takes traveling to whatever continent, country, and city that your assignment is in, and after getting the job down, the hours it takes to come back from the mission is the recovery time from your extensive vacation.

Ether wasn't a nine-to-five desk job business; therefore, the higher ups saw no reasons and had no intentions to let anyone escape from the confines of the ever dreary hallways for a day, or leave their post at hacking computer systems and pinpointing every minuscule detail that led to a successful mission.

The misery that the veterans of this organization go through every time summer approaches is much like school children getting restless with every day until school is let out. You'd think that they would have much more control, but there are always those dimwits who are good at their job but whose brain still turns to mush at the mention of beaches and tan lines.

This so called anguish would be the work of their employer, the great and rash man called Hohenhiem. If you are anyone inside the Organization, you would know exactly when to cringe when the name is being said, and not just for his killer charm and brash behavior.

He controls Ether with an iron fist, and that is why those whispers of time off and vacation are so short lived around headquarters. For as hard as the people protest, a dictator still holds power over them all. The only time the leader ever had to worry was when people revolted. Or tried to at least. It was much like when men kill for the chance to move up on the social structure. This time it was only taken literally.

But here, in Ether, people more so fear what happens when they are promoted, for the Organization is as unpredictable as thoughts changing in a man's head. That is why the sudden riot didn't last and before anyone knew it, the revolts were done and order was restored.

The last revolt was almost four years prior, but nowadays, finding information behind it is damn near impossible unless contacting someone in Intelligence.

While men are being recruited to become the brainwashed machines that Ether is infamous for instructing and controlling, they are divided into three different sects. Mainly for the old agent's amusement, but also as a clear sign as to who to send on what mission.

Those who volunteer to risk their lives inside Ether are the reckless ones; they come with no bounty on their heads and a mind that can be as easily washed over and scrubbed down as plates in the sink. Sometimes they are already trained through the Army or the Marines. They may even be ex-government agents who were dumped from too many fuckups or old age. As long as a body can be used, it will be utilized inside Ether.

Then there are those who took a wrong turn and ended up too deep in the system without the means for escaping without being permanently silenced. These are the accidental idiots, usually without anything remotely legible as a college degree or with a curiosity too big for their own good. Ether uses these men first; they are also the ones most likely to die in basic training first.

And last but not least, there are those men who are forced into servicing Ether, for without the Organization, these men would be nothing. Usually it's a family thing, like in my case for example. Unable to escape as long as a they may live, where running from Ether, those same weapons they've trained with for decades turning against them, was worst then death, is a simple fate that one may experience when trying to leave.

With my lineage, it's no wonder why I never get a breather around the halls of Ether. Around here, you are either being feared or being eaten alive. If survival of the fittest ever fit in anywhere, it would be here, for we have not just mastered the techniques of killing strategically, but we have also perfected the lifestyle and complete domination of Ether into every single individual life.

Now doesn't that sound peachy? It's something that's covered every day in basic training. That is, you'll hear it if you survive long enough. Duck low and aim high, because without some strategy, you will be having a very short stay in Ether.

xXx

"_Your next target is located at the corner of Fifth and Sheridan. The main building is three floors, with two minor sectors flanking each side. A large warehouse is connected to the second sector, where a guard tower stands approximately thirty feet off the ground to the side one-eighty degrees. The warehouse itself is filled with mostly empty crates, though the contents of those still being moved are unknown." A pause._

"_The profile should have been given to you prior to your departure from headquarters. Orders are to kill all those who try and stop you, and to leave no one left alive. Understand, number three? Report back when you are finished and you are sure the area is cleared."_

xXx

I've visited many places.

I was born in the United States, but I've traveled all over five of the seven continents, leaving no one behind in my tracks. I've had more names than most people have had friends, each leaving a distinct mark on me as I leave myself buried deeper and deeper into my job.

Speaking of my job that was the only reason I had hitched a cab here: Fifth and Sheridan. The building read **Salvatore and Sons, Co.** on the front in large block letters, as people milled around and chose to ignore it. The building was usually rented out for the storage center in the back, so even with the two huge moving trucks parked in the front, it was paid barely any mind.

It was unprofessional almost to arrive like this, in black and gray clothing supporting nothing else on me but the gun at my waist and money in my pocket, and to show up at the front of the building.

But, if it was the only time I'd get to drop by, why not make it memorable?

There. Before I'd even stepped up on the curb, two cameras caught my attention. One focused on the street, pointed almost directly in my direction. The other was off to the side, surveying the street off to my left.

I couldn't exactly walk forward into the main building. Plus, that wasn't where I needed to head. Without a glance back, I hurried off to the right, out of the view of either camera, directly into the alley that separated this building and the east sector; the one without the warehouse. A barbed fence stood in my way now, but with the help of the dumpster and a little upper body strength grip on the wall, I was over without a scratch on me.

Straight ahead was the east sect, blocked by a large brown jeep heaped with boxes and people milling around. I glanced over, immediately spying the sect with the warehouse; my target's hideout. It barely registered in my mind as I moved, as there were no cameras where I was heading, and zero guards or employees.

The warehouse inside was a dozen lines of crates filled with whatever mysteriously substance that wasn't in the report. The guard tower that had been mentioned was farther than I had expected, but easier to reach as I darted past, using the boxes closest to the wall for my advantage.

Compared to these men, all who had shaved heads and dark, hacked cuts, I would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Even if I was always begged to cut and dye my hair, my long blond hair was staying on my head for as long as it was convenient for me. The only turn off was it looked almost identical to my father's look whenever I wore it in a ponytail. Like today.

The similarities ended there.

I was standing at the base of the ladder that led up to the guard tower and up the stairs almost immediately. This is where the mission begins.

A guard was standing alert, walking around the terrace that looped around the tower, and when he spotted me, it gave me two seconds to duck as his shot rang out, whishing by my head.

As I jumped up, releasing my gun from the hold it had in the waist of my jeans, it took no more than a moment to point and fire. The man slugged against the railing and fell.

I quickly turned back, kicking open the door to the command center.

The room inside was small and square, with two chairs facing the front where a series of buttons and monitors laid. Files littered the floor, and the back held all the shelves that would hold those files along with books when placed back inside.

There were three men inside and without a slight regards and how important they were or what they were doing with their lives, I fired. I heard both start with a gasp, and it was over.

This was getting easy. A little _too _easy, compared to most assignments I was given.

I was used to the missions where people would be commanded to aim low, but my benefactors knew for a fact I'd disregard orders and strike the opponent high. I wasn't the best man to be considered for authority; never had been, even though it usually got me in trouble.

This assignment almost seemed like a trainee rank mission to me, which I was sent on in my early teen years. A monkey could climb up a tower and fire a gun to get into the controls room.

It wasn't making any sense to me.

The target wasn't even a big money roller.

Thomas Salvatore, a once big time benefactor in the eyes of Ether, now turned a rogue dog that needed to learn his place.

The file had said that he was an underground dealer with high connections in the black market in regards to explosives and bombs. It would have been an opportunity for him to expand his business and prosper even more, knowing that Ether was behind him to back him up if he ever failed.

Unfortunately, when he let it slip to some of his other benefactors that he was being helped by Ether, he was put on a stricter leash. The bond lasted a year before it was becoming a hapless effort to help Salvatore and keep him safe.

According to the file, he was surrounding himself with nothing but the best guards nowadays. So far, the file had been wrong.

The spies were the ones who found out information before they would send the assassins in, and it usually gave them a pretty open shot on how to carry out that duty. Sometimes it meant going undercover, but usually it was just the luck of being calm, quick, and prepared.

I looked to my right, studying the monitors that showed places from the front building, the two sectors, and the warehouse. It didn't take long fortunately for me to spy the man of the hour on the little screen, directly in my line of view.

The monitor showed him hurrying along the middle lane of the warehouse, where they would pass along the tower within moments. Where did he think he was going?

"_BRIGGINS, COPY, BRIGGINS, DO YOU HEAR ME? OVER."_

I jumped as the shrill call rang out behind me, startling from the demure thoughts I had let myself slip into.

"_BRIGGINS, WE HEARD SHOTS FIRED. ARE YOU AND HASTINGS ALL RIGHT? WE ARE MOVING BOSS OUT NOW. INTRUDER ALERT. I REPE—"_

I cursed under my breath, stomping over to the man on the floor, pulling out his walkie talkie and smashing it on the floor, silencing the command before it could finish.

As soon as it was silent, it was like I had set off a bomb. An alarm went off; the blatant sound of something like a fire bell ringing throughout the warehouse, as feet pounding against the concrete was heard running through the structure.

No one had found me yet, but it would only be time. I ran out, starting to climb down the stairs at a hasty pace, until I was about ten feet off. I jumped the rest, landing in a crouch.

Three guards ran at me immediately. Basic training was always a savior in something like this. Something as trivial as combat fighting. The first man was stupid enough to come running straight at me, and from my lowered position I was able to knock him off balance with a swift punch to the stomach, before sweeping my outstretched leg to knock him to the ground.

Standing up quickly, I was able to slam his face in with the butt of my gun as he tried to sit back up. The second and third came up almost like a tag team, throwing some erratic punches and kicks, and while a few landed on my back, I was able to dodge most of them. Unfortunately, one of them jarred my hand, causing me to throw my gun over to the side.

As I tried to recover, it caught me by surprise when the third man, a tall, lanky man with a shaved head and numerous face tattoos, shoved me from behind straight into the other one, built the same but with long, wiry hair pulled back much like my own.

"Ooff." I struggled, shoving off of him as he smacked me straight across the face. The momentum made me fall back on my ass, off to the side of the two men, who were not close to being down for the count.

I was ordered to kill all those who got in my way, and though I had spared the first man, I was running out of time. It almost made me feel bad, at their astonished faces as I sprinted towards where my gun had fallen, as if they had almost forgotten I was brandishing one during our short fight.

I dove for the machine, landing with a skid as I turned half way through, pointing with spot-on tendencies, bringing both men crumpling to the ground.

But I couldn't spend time worrying about the bodies on the floor; I was losing time with each second passing.

Gathering myself, I ran for it, past the crates and towards where I heard voices collecting and other feet running.

With every man that stepped in my way, I was quick to try and knock him out of my way in some way or form, so it wouldn't slow down my steps.

"Go, go that way!"

"Intruder alert!"

"He's there, running by Lines Twenty-Zero and Twenty-Ten!"

"Get hi—!"

The last voice was the first and only that was in my range, and the bullet in his head was more than enough to keep him quiet as I approached my target. The best part: they still thought they were safe. Salvatore was in the middle of a group of six guards, looking a bit panicked but oddly safe surrounded by the men.

He still thought he was safe, that he was going to escape. Poor, poor bastard.

I couldn't help but use the leverage of a crate beside me for my last sneak attack, descending from above when they were looking anywhere but up. Oh, thank god I was forced to get used to the screaming a long time ago.

Headquarters was located in a city called Central, a metropolis that was about the size of New York City, and then some. And though many came for the sites and for vacationing purposes, Central was the host for all sorts of secret government projects and all those illegal organizations that most people didn't want to even deal with.

It was coincidently not on most maps, with great help from most of the printing businesses that Ether either threatened or had hooked under their wings from blackmail.

The town was more so under an unspoken separation that most people knew about though no one actually made notice of it.

I had lived here all my life and it had always been the same. Tall, sky high buildings, a train station that ventured out every few hours, a port a few miles in the outskirts of the city traveling northward, public transportation lining every street corner, people milling around, and tons of secrets.

If Central ever needed a tagline that would be it: city of secrets.

Headquarters for Ether was located in a large building in the downtown district, which housed most of the vagrants in the area and the rundown businesses. Sure, there were also 'creeper' buildings as they are called stationed in the business area of town which are considerably 'nicer', but this is where the original was planted.

It's roughly ten stories high above and one below. Underground, that is.

Entry can be done from the two doors in front or the set stationed on the three other sides. To get in on the sides, a pass is needed as well as the back. Anybody could walk through the front; getting past the front room is where the difficulty lies.

I had walked back because I didn't want to get the company of a bus nervous because of the blood on my boots or have a cab driver get a whiff of something if I had him drop me off in front of headquarters.

Ether was well described as just another worn-down building among all the other worn-down businesses. It was a drab gray color, with windows dotting the all four sides and glass doors in the front. Even if it was in the rundown section of town, the building was in considerably high condition. The inside was in its own category.

There was no one else on the sidewalk with me, as I pushed myself past the glass doors and into the lobby. Directly in front of me was a woman dressed in a pantsuit. A man with a shaved head dressed head to toe in combat black stood on the other side of the front desk, chatting to the woman. On either side of the wooden desk were two doors, each compatible with a keycard and code that someone who wants to walk past the lobby must enter.

It was once spacious, but looked like most of it had been molded into whatever was beyond the two doors. The room itself was pristine, paintings dotting the walls. There were some bookcases on either walls, with another desk was to my left with some chairs that were all currently empty.

The man turned and the woman looked up from whatever she was doing as I entered.

"Welcome back, Edward. Completed?" She said, nodding in my direction.

"Of course he completed it Deborah. If not, I'm sure as hell he wouldn't be showing his fucking face around here in fear of his father." The man bit in, letting out a rasping chuckle as he leaned all his weight on the desk.

Deborah's eyes narrowed at the man, before she entered something on her computer and the door to her right clicked open. "Saving you the trouble."

"Thanks Debs." I chided, secretly loving the scowl she presented me with since we both knew she hated the nickname. "And I did complete it, Harold. We all can't be incompetent." I called over with a prideful smile, finding pleasure in the way he grimaced at me.

"Sorry I can't save him from you though." I said, walking towards the door she had opened for me.

Deborah sighed. "Yeah, well reporting to your father will be saving me enough grief. He's waiting for you in his office." She said, throwing up her hands. "Some new mission has come up and he needs you ASAP. Hasn't stopped fucking ringing me in the last hour."

Just as she completed her sentence, the phone rang. She held up her pointer finger.

"Front office. Yes, he just returned. Yes I'll send him right up. Yes."

She hung up the phone, staring at me, pointing towards the door. I sighed. No use in trying to slip in and away now that he knew I had returned.

"Sorry sir, but I can't exactly lie to your father like you can." I nodded towards Deborah, understanding her situation. Deborah had been one of the secretaries of Ether for the last three years, and though that was still relatively new in terms for the Organization, she was a hard ass. Everyone knew it. Though she just worked the desk and watched the outside, she was combat orientated and thoroughly beat up and Elite her second month on site.

The man, Harold, was just another regular member of Ether though he mainly worked as an assassin. He was too large for spying but my father saw him without enough brains to work at any of the offices or, god forbid, Intelligence.

"I know, but thanks anyways." I took a deep breath. Turning towards the door, I waved a goodbye and went through.

This door went into a smaller room that had been split from the left side by a large wall. Directly in front of me was an elevator, though if you headed right you'd straight going down a hallway that held a number of rooms and offices.

The other door that I hadn't gone through went to some place relatively the same. The two sides only met in two places: after going down either hallway, at the end by means of another carded door and on any of the first four floors. On the fifth, seventh, and ninth floors, you have to take the right door to reach it. On the sixth, eighth, and tenth, a person must take the left door. Trippy, huh?

It's only Headquarters that does it like that. There also one other elevator around the back that goes to all ten floors, including the one stationed below ground. But that one is usually only reserved for 'special' people. I have to swipe a code to get back there myself.

Though the building looks moderate from outside, inside it is huge. I arrived on the seventh floor, where I knew my father would have been this time of day. It was mid-afternoon and he was most likely observing how some members were calculating pinpoints or advising people in the field. That level command central for all that was mission latitude and longitude and whenever you would talk back to Headquarters, you'd reach one of the people there.

Immediately I went to my left, entering a long hallway.

I heard laughter and cackling as well as the sound of defeat high in the air as I rounded a corner and entered room leading to the offices. There were four men gathered in a circle around a table where they were playing cards, one pulling the chips in his favor as he won the hand.

"Oh dammit Al, you always fucking win at the most heated parts!" A brunet at the guy's left whined, throwing his cards down on the table and crossing his arms.

"I'm gonna be out of food money for a week!"

"I swear you're carrying extra cards with you. No one could win this consistently." Another sore loser huffed, pushing his seat back as he stood up.

"Well, he did learn from the best." I said as I emerged from the corner, walking towards the table.

A chorus of my name echoed among the men in greeting, along with my brother's own call of "Brother!" my way.

"How was the mission?" The brunet asked, a member of Intelligence called Avery. He was younger, like Al, but smart though he had a horrible spirit at times.

"Same old, same old." I shrugged, modest ol' me though it was true.

"Though messy I see." I looked up at my brother, who was pointing towards my boots and pant legs, both speckled with blood from when I had little choice but stepping in it.

We heard a crashing sound behind as we spun around, seeing the man that declared he was going to be out of money for the week on the floor. Alphonse sighed as I laughed.

"And that's why he works here and not in the field." My brother excused the guy though it did nothing to ease my cackling. I could feel Al looking at me with a smile, before I turned, forcing my head to tip back so I could look at him.

It was never fair that he got the height; I was fourteen months older than him and he had roughly seven inches on me the last time we had our physical. His hair was considerably lighter than mine; more of a bronze with hazel eyes like our mother's.

"So he wants to see me?" I stated, knowing that out of everyone, he would be the one to know immediately after the order was placed.

"Yeah," Al replied, scratching the back of his head. He was dressed in slacks and a long sleeved shirt covered by a cardigan, though he had pushed it up to his elbows. "I guess something big has come up from that secret project and he needs the best. Lucky you." Al smiled, dropping his arm.

"Yeah, lucky me." I agreed dryly.

There was some buzz lately about a project that had been a few years in the making being leaked to outside sources, with a man being arrested for it about two years ago. No one knew exact information except my father and his delegates.

I noticed the room clearing, the men all going back to their respective positions while they dragged the guy who had fainted away as well.

My brother worked on this floor as well; he was a super genius when working with computers, gadgets, electronics, coordinates, and the works. He usually helped people on missions, communicating when we knew the layout of areas or buildings or gathering information to be used in files for the field workers.

Al was never one for working out in the open, though he had been taught for 'battle'. Like me. Like the rest of us here in Ether.

The only ones who were more specially trained were the Elite; the cream of the crop. We were the group of the best assassins, the best and most refined killers in the Organization. I was the Agent Three; the numbers started from me. Why? Some could say because of my lineage, but I guess it could also be my demeanor out in the field.

"It's nice to see you smiling, brother. Were you hurt at all?" Ah, Al. Always worrying for me aren't you? I could see his eyes flash with concern when he looked down at the blood on my clothes.

"Don't sweat it, Al." I laughed it off, swatting my hands his way. "I'm fine and it's only a little spatter." I saw him pull a tight smile at my words as he nodded.

"So where is the bastard?" His turn to chuckle at me.

"Down the hall and to the left. He's talking with Ten and Eleven." I could tell Al was preparing to head back to work after he directed me by the way he referred to their numbers rather than by surnames. I knew our timely chat was over, as I waved a goodbye in his direction and took off towards the room to talk with my old man.

* * *

Man, I really wanted to get the conversation with his father in this, but it was getting relatively long and the meeting with his father is long enough to take another chapter! haha.

Anyways, I think that's enough of a teaser of what's to come with Ether (:

Comments, questions or concerns?

Just want to chit-chat?

J'adore examen!

(probably not the right use for 'review' but ya'll get the picture~)

Love ya'll.

xo Mazzie


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone. (: Look, an update!

Uhm, I really don't have much to say besides that. Slowly working on all my other story updates as well, so look out for them too.

* * *

Chapter Song

**The Waiting by Green Day**

_Forget me nots and second thoughts live in isolation_  
_Heads or tails and fairytales in my mind_  
_Are we we are,  
__are we we are the waiting unknown_

* * *

**Chapter II**

After talking to my brother, I had peeked into one of the control rooms to see if any of the other Elite members had arrived back before me. It seemed that everyone that went out before me was still not back yet, which was odd because I had been gone for nearly half a day myself. With one last look, I ventured towards the door where my father was with Agent Ten and Eleven.

The door was shut, so I knocked twice on the panel and waited for my que to enter.

"Oh yes, come in." Though it sounded like a normal greeting, I could tell my father had rushed it out as he was quickly briefing the two other men that he had been talking to. I pushed the door open, only to see all three men standing up and looking at files in a collective huddle on the far side of the room.

It was a generically small meeting room, where it would be shrouded in complete darkness if not for the blinds being partially open. There was one table, littered with a number of files and discarded paperwork and pens along the long surface. Three chairs haunted each side, which only one headed it where his father should have been sitting. The projector sheet hung down for the ceiling though nothing was displayed on it at the moment.

The room distinctly smelled like old coffee and cigars.

"And as I was sayin—Oh, it's you Edward. I thought hurrying meant something to you." My father snapped with a huff, before looking back at the manila envelope in his hands. "Anyway, the mission details are all here. It should not take you more than a month and you won't be receiving any time after that."

"Backup, sir?" The man to my father's left questioned, looking up. He had blond hair, trimmed so that it was just barely there on top of his head. A jagged scar ran on the left side of his face from his forehead to his cheek, just cutting through the eyebrow.

"Denied. If two Elite killers need backup for some an obsolete mission, well then you might as well put you both in front of the firing squad." He grunted back, not letting his eyes travel farther than the top of whatever he was so intently reading.

Agent Eleven, Lutz, drew his eyebrows in a frown before sending a look over towards the other man in the room. The other Elite, Gallagher slumped his shoulders in a shrug as he leaned back against one of the chairs in the room.

Agent Ten T. Gallagher and Agent Eleven E. Lutz had been working together for years and usually only went on missions where they could work together. For some reason, my father allowed it. Scratch that, I knew the reason was because they were big, burly men with no-shit attitude and probably would kill any bystanders if the other one wasn't there to balance out the testosterone radiating from both of them. I couldn't stand either.

Gallagher was similar looking, though with a shaved head and small scars littering his chin, neck, and probably other parts of his body as well. Both of them liked the aspect of predator vs. prey; a game of cat and mouse which made it a no brainer why both were so bruised and marked all the time.

"Is that all?" Gallagher questioned, pushing himself up from the chair only to turn, grab a file on the table before waiting for an answer.

My father's mouth pulled into a tight line, ignoring him.

Unnoticed by my father, Agent Ten proceeded to roll his eyes to which Lutz mocked the movement. To me, it was all very childish but whatever got them through the day…

"Talk to Willem for transportation. You're both dismissed." His eyes darted up to create contact with the two Elite members, before Lutz threw in a tight nod as he turned away and Gallagher gave a respectful head nod as he followed his partner out of the room. I was shocked when he bid me goodbye as he walked out; not only did I hate them, like most of the Elite members, I knew for a fact that they both despised me.

It was a thing about being the son of the leader of Ether and the grandson of one of the three original founders of the organization; you get enemies within the borders as well. I could recall only being close to one another organization member in my lifetime: Agent Nine.

But it had been a long time since we even conversed and I wouldn't call her my best friend anymore…

The entire Elite is made up of people who want to rip each other's throats out, to various degrees and for personal reasons, but nonetheless the tension in an Elite meeting could be cut with a hatchet.

My father chooses to ignore it for obvious reasons. As long as we don't actually kill one another, then it's no sweat off of his back. He made us into Elite members for blatant reasons and his philosophy is if we don't get to spar off of each other every once in awhile all assassins will start to soften up.

But everyone, even the newest recruit, understands the fight between Elite members. The only situations worse than the interrelationship of those powerful killers are the arguments between Elite assassins and any regular Ether member. Of course, it's barely a problem if an Elite puts their mind to it but even then it can get a bit messy.

My father had yet to glance up from the file, so I sighed, sitting heavily in the middle chair on his right side kicking my feet up on the chair next to me. In one slick movement, he grabbed the back of the chair, dropping my legs like a sack of potatoes. I jumped, startled.

"Report."

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about, but I soon put on my smirk and folded my arms behind my head. "Oh, it was no problem. That Salvatore guy was a puss; took one look at me coming from above and all but shit himself." I gave a laugh, only to be silenced by the sudden force of my father slamming his hands on the table. The papers flew every which way.

"Edward, what have I told you about that sort of language?"

I gaped. "Lutz talks worse than I do! It's not like I'm over her—"

"Edward!" I knew that tone. It was the warning tone that he would use before it got physical.

Unfolding my arms, I decided to place them on the sides of my chair as I scooted back, sitting up straighter. "Yeah, sorry…" I grumbled, not meeting his eyes.

It was quiet; my father stared hard at the table, before he straightened up and glared full-frontal and dead-on at me. I had spotted the look before he could take me down with it, snapping my head away from the look and squeezing my eyes shut tight. But it didn't go well, as I suddenly felt rough, calloused fingers tearing at my chin, jerking me forward.

His nails dug into my skin and I did all but grit my teeth because that would just set him off. His temper was bad enough, no need to show insubordination by going against all training. It didn't hurt that bad, but it was more of the fact I was programmed to flinch like this, after being shoved around and taught by my father in physical contact for years it was all but second nature.

It was how he showed he still controlled me, even when I was a bit out of line. It wasn't even the cursing, because he usually didn't give a shit about things like that. No, something was definitely wrong and he was resorting back to his punishments for me as a child, whenever I messed up my exercises and assignments he sent me on.

I wouldn't call it abuse; it wasn't. It was punishment from a man whose life had been dedicating to killing.

His glare made me want to narrow my own eyes at him, but I didn't feel like getting slapped around today. Instead, I opted for the safer route, by down casting my gaze as he held tight to my chin. I was known for challenging people; it's what made me a killer on the battlefield. Pun intended. But there were some fires better left burning. No chance in fighting a lost battle. Plus, I liked my freedom; I didn't want to be locked up or 'retired'.

'Retired' was another word for murdered, killed, annihilated, put in front of other fellow assassins and taken down. When a person was in front of a firing squad, it didn't matter what great deeds said person once did. The minute someone was condemned that way, they were as good as dead.

But it was something that had to be done sometimes, a guarantee that anyone who held a gun under contract at Ether would see it somehow or another during their duration in the organization.

"Do you think you are funny, Edward? Smarter than most of those animals out there because you hold authority over them? Well, boy authority doesn't hold shit for dead men." His breath didn't smell like liquor, but his crazy demeanor wasn't something brought on by alcohol. It was just the toll of the line of work.

I fought to keep my eyes downward, though he held my chin firmly in his grip, making it difficult to do anything but try. Try to not meet his gaze, try to keep calm and not react, try not to get slapped around…

"Not going to answer me? You think you are better than me too, don't you? Oh Agent Three, best killer inside the Elite. No-no! Best renowned killer in all of Ether! Yes, that's it right?" He taunted and as I didn't answer, he eventually threw my chin aside, straightened up and turned his back on me.

I sat still.

The entire office was dressed in silence for what seemed like hours before my father let go of a heavy sigh and looked back at me. His face was still as stern as ever, though it had fallen from its reserve considerably, as if he had been thinking hard about something.

I decided not to question him. It was better to just sit there.

"Something has recently come to light; something so monumental and worrisome in contrast to what Ether works and stands for that I have decided to take immediate action in dealing with the rumor that is spreading." He began, moving to sit down at the head of the table.

He reached out, gathering a file marked 'CLASSIFIED' in black block letters, opening and flicking through the contents before closing the front and tossing it over in front of me. He picked up a carbon copy and opening it for himself to follow along.

"Unless it's about Gallagher and Lutz and their secret affair, then no I haven't." That was my attempt to crack a joke with my father, who continued to stare straight at me. That rumor had started over a year ago, that they were secretly engaging in hot and heavy sex every time they went on missions together.

There was no way to prove against it and since they always worked together it was almost too obvious to be true. Well, it still hasn't been proven or disproven. My father probably had heard it before, countless times assuming so, but it didn't exactly go over how I'd like it to have.

As my grin I had developed gradually dropped, he took it as a sign to begin once again.

"Edward, have you heard of the Briar Project?" He looked dead ahead at me, eyes locked. I stared back, enthralled by the seriousness in his expression and captivating aspect in his gaze.

I had not, voicing it to him.

He stifled a sigh with a nod of his head, continuing, "The Briar Project is information that has been stored about Ether since the beginning of the organization. It's more than a file, more than a memory chip, even more than the human brain's own information storage. It's every mission, every person and their identity – real and created; it contains all the secrets of Ether, including the programs we run and the training system." He paused.

"It also holds all the past, present and future proceedings of the three founders of the organization – including your grandfather." Oh dear old granddad. I couldn't say that I missed that man much or else I'd be lying. He was one of the original – he was also the first number of Elite. And to this day, he is still the only Agent One to ever exist.

My father had visibly gone solid as he mentioned his father. I had never had conversations with my dad about his own father or their relationship, but from what I remember when I was young – and what I've heard – it was never happy, cheerful father/son moment when they were together.

But I was confused, by what he was telling me. "So it's like a file but is not? How exactly does that work?" I flipped forward in the file, recognizing a list of duties and key-points.

It was a mission folder.

I clenched my jaw, realizing what this new found knowledge was eventually leading to.

"The Briar Project has been passed along through books, papers, folders and files and through spoken word, son. But a breech has been found. Though those are all ways for people to find knowledge, any information they want about the organization, it is meant for some ears only."

I nodded in understanding. I was one of the most powerful people in Ether and I had never heard of it. It made me wonder who else knew. Probably some of his advisors though I couldn't even guess who else would be able to know about it besides them.

"The first time the Project was in jeopardy of being revealed was two years ago, when a man working in Intelligence was arrested and put in jail for voluntarily acknowledging that he knew secrets about Ether; secrets that he wasn't supposed to be aware of. At his trial, we found out he had been snooping around, putting his nose far too deep in business he shouldn't have."

I let go of the folder, crossing my arms against my chest. Two years ago…?

"I… remember a large trial two years ago, but I also recall the details never exactly being mentioned. But the man's name…?" I racked my brain. It wasn't uncommon compared to some of the names I've seen around this place, but I just couldn't think of it.

"His name was Maes Hughes. Age thirty-two at the time of arrest." My father shuffled the papers around on the table before settling on a specific one. He held it up, parallel to his face. "He is still in containment at the building inside the city in the subdivision for anyone deemed unruly."

I nodded my head. I had gone there as a child; my father had called it a 'field trip'. I was happy to say that I had never visited again after that.

The division is on one of the middle floors of the headquarters in the main part of city, where prisoners of Ether are kept. I was aware that some old agents and assassins were kept there, either from disobeying orders or from being marked 'unruly' like my father implied.

From what I've heard over time, it's called 'Roadblock' because your life is good as ended – like a roadblock ends a street – when you are admitted there. Most of the time it's shortened to just 'RB', for convenience.

"So he's still in containment yet there is another person that knows about the Project? Is it connected to the man in any way?" Though I wanted to get the details of this recent breech, I also really wanted to gather the information of what my next mission was going to be. The way I was headed with this conversation…

Whenever he sent me on missions normally it was much quicker and less painful. A quick folder of information and a light talk about what I was to do. That is, if I even see him to get the information about the mission. Sometimes it is faxed or brought by a messenger to my living quarters. Like the one from today where I was handed the mission folder and ushered out only to get a call from someone to tell me where I was heading.

But this one was much more thought through then I was used to. I was learning more into the job then I was usually told.

"We believe that he rallied information to an outside source while he was still free and we hadn't tracked him down yet." He stated while looking down.

"From two years ago? And you just got wind now that someone else knows?" It took all of my self-control not to scoff at that reasoning. My father shot me a look as I buckled down and looked at my own file.

Nothing interesting other than notes that I didn't understand because I had no idea how this was all connected. Other than the breech two years and now, I couldn't see how I was about to become involved in it.

There wasn't a sin I could commit to make my father command me to kill this Hughes man; no, if he wasn't wasted away from the experimentation and tests they do on him already then they still needed him for one reason or the other if he was still breathing.

"We were tipped by an undercover source and decided to place an operative there. Agent Jean Havoc has been stationed there for the last six months." My father picked up a picture and handed it to me.

Ah, I knew him. Well, I'd seen him around but never exactly conversed with the man. It displayed a small picture followed by statistics and such following his current location and situation he was in. Along the bottom were dates that routed reports from wherever he was stationed.

The last one dated back two months ago.

"His reports had been coming in every two weeks or so in the beginning but he hasn't contacted Ether in over sixty days and counting. We sent out a tracker one week ago and he was unable to locate our man which leads to the questions of whether he left for personal reasons or if he's running." My father was sounding awfully gritty as each moment passed, his voice growing colder and more rigid.

He was beginning to sound more like he was before we began conversing. He got in this mood whenever things weren't going according to plan.

"So that's where you come in, Edward. Agent Havoc was stationed there to spy on one individual in particular. A one Roy Mustang." Another picture, though there were a few other papers holding specified information stapled to the back.

He was smirking in the picture, staring up at me with dark, cool eyes as if telling me that he knew something I wasn't aware of. But the playfulness behind them displayed a wistful nature, something I wasn't in great knowledge of.

It surprised me.

"So you want me to take this man out?"

His hands slammed on the table before I had a chance to breathe.

"No, no, NO! Have you been listening at all?" He hissed at me before settling back. I waited for him to regain composure, demure.

"I am sending you there for the next three months to finish Havoc's term as a spy and collect information about this man. Gather any information in the most discreet ways possible and report bac—"

"Wait, you want me to _spy_ on him? But, but I'm not a spy, father, I'm trained as an assassin! I serve under you and the Elite as a killer. I can't exactl—" My voice had raised, my shoulders hunched and every sense on high alert.

What? This was insane, trying to send me out as a spy.

"I never want you to use that phrase in my presence, Edward. You know that. 'You can't' is complete bullshit and I will not settle for it." My father spoke in voice that carried in icy undertone. Just a matter of time before World War Three began again.

"Now you were trained to serve Ether and serve it to whatever extent when you pledged loyalty to the organization. With that responsibility comes completely whatever missions and duties that you are assigned, which includes anything I see you fit with working. Edward, you are one of the best in Ether and my son; I trust you to accept it without a tussle."

Oh, but I wasn't going down without a fight. Spying meant I had to stay at some random location for the next three months, somehow wedging myself in this man's life while gathering information to please the organization and my father. Not to mention, why if this man was the reason of Havoc's sudden disappearance?

I wasn't afraid of that reason; it was just inconvenient. I liked small assassination missions where when I was complete I could go and do whatever I pleased.

Now, it was beginning to look dim in my personal time space.

"But what about another spy for this mission? I mean you sent Havoc first so why not another?" I looked at him cheekily.

"I've spoken with some advisors and we've agreed that it's escalated to the point where we need someone highly trained to defend themselves but also sneaky enough to not give away their identity. And enough loyalty not to disappear." He returned the look, only with a smirk. "I thought you'd make the perfect candidate, Edward."

I snorted. Figures.

"Well what about another Elite, eh? What, what about Alicia? She would dig up something like this!"

"Agent Nine is currently out of commission; you are aware of that." I stared questioningly at him. He just gazed back nonchalantly at my expression.

I knew she was taking a break but down for the count.

I frowned, putting that in back of my mind to remember to ask him later. I grew up with Alicia. It was troubling not to know that something had occurred to make her unable to accept any missions.

"Edward you were the one and only that I thought would be perfect for the job." He was smiling. _Smiling_.

It gave a scarecrow a run for its money.

"So I'm supposed to watch and gather information from this Mustang guy? Well if the Project has no solid form then how does it all piece together?" Aha, I had to have caught him there. Oh crap, he hadn't dropped the piercing look.

"No, son, I said that the information surpasses any solid form of information and messaging that was in existence, but there are files, books, papers and such that are out there in the world that the man might be in hold of. Most likely they would be copies since Intelligence has not spoken of any of the originals missing since Hughes was captured two years ago." My father shifted to the side, crossing his leg at the knee with his feet tapping idly against it.

"All the mission information and everything you need to be aware of along with what we have gathered is in that folder." He tapped on his copy of the one he had given me. "Including your alias'. Willem will give you your passport, license and such before you leave."

I stared up at him. So that was it? I was really about to ship off for another mission, not to mention to spy on someone?

"I still think that killing him or kidnapping would be a better way to go about this."

My father's lips actually quivered like he was about to crack a smile. But then it was gone.

"You are dismissed. Good luck, son."

I was packed in a duffel bag on my shoulder and pack on my back within the hour. My first stop was to see my brother and inform him about my current situation.

He warned me numerous times to be careful and check up – "On his personal phone, away from work."

After my goodbye to the only other person I had in this organization I was off to the downstairs once again. Though instead of heading out the front doors, I was slipping into the back rooms where I ran into the man who manhandled transportation

Willem was the man to go to if anyone ever needed any fake I.D.s or anything that had to deal with getting from point A to point B. He was great at everything in between as well.

Gathering my plane ticket as I learned I was going a lot farther away then I was notified—in fact, I was going costal.

Hm. Had I ever gone to a beach? The last time was on a mission four years ago. It had definitely been awhile.

I was also given my new identity along with every other personal information that I needed to be carrying as I flew to my new destination. I couldn't get myself to look at my new name just yet; I wanted to keep on to Edward Elric a little bit longer.

Stuffing it back into my pack I turned just in time for Willem to push something into my hands.

He was an older gentleman with graying hair and questionable sanity. I looked down into my grasp.

A bottle of sunscreen.

My scowl was met with a laugh from the man.

With one final look at the establishment I would be away from and out of reach for the next three months I boarded the bus. The same one I had rode earlier in the day to my mission. Now it was taking me the opposite way to do an exact one-eighty on what I had accomplished earlier.

From assassin to spy. Some things just didn't make sense in the world anymore.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

I'd appreciate any review/criticism/questions/etc. you have!

xo Mazzie


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